


Snuggle Closer to Me

by mudkipwrites



Series: Quarantine Cuddles [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Comfort Reading, Ficlets, Gen, Humor, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Part 1 of a collection of KalluZeb sick-fics based upon various prompts and suggestions. I hope they provide you with a little distraction and cheer during this time! Stay sane out there! <3
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Ghost Family Crew
Series: Quarantine Cuddles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025896
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	Snuggle Closer to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: “I need some sick-fic Kallus staying all safe and snuggled up in Zeb’s bunk. Maybe they don’t even know about their feelings for each other just yet.”

* * *

A chorus of coughing can be heard over the regular hum of the Ghost’s rumbling engine.

Although the ship glides along smoothly through the dark and starry expanse of space, its occupants stagger around as wobbly-limbed as if they are navigating a rocky asteroid field. “Urg...” Kanan groans, leaning one arm against the wall of the ship. “I don’t...I don’t feel so good.” The dark-haired Jedi’s typically calm, passive face is pulled into a frown. Even the painted eyes of his mask seem to be drooping down with exhaustion. “I think that I...might need to...lie down _.”_

From the cockpit of the ship, Hera Syndulla makes a sympathetic sound.

She swivels around in her captain’s chair, shifting the gears into auto-pilot. “I told you to stay in bed, Kanan,” she replies, voice soft for all of the scolding in her words. “There’s nothing that needs doing around the ship right now so much as you getting some rest.” The Twi’lek woman rises from her chair, walking over to place a hand upon the human’s shoulder. “You should go back to bed, love.”

Kanan’s sightless eyes crinkle at the corners.

He leans forward automatically down towards her face, making as though to plant a kiss upon her forehead. Hera, however, swiftly raises one hand, placing her fingertips haltingly over his lips. “Not now,” she chuckles sadly. “In fact...I better go wash this, just in case.” She draws her hand away, wiping it down on her bright-orange jumpsuit. 

The doors to the cabin hiss open, and Garazeb Orrelios stumps in to join them.

The great, purple Lasat looks like a complete wreck. His ears are drawn back--practically flattened down against his head--and his back is hunched low. As he walks, his great paws drag upon the floor at his sides. “Yaknnow,” he states, “I’m startin’ to think that this stuff is contagious.” He stares pointedly at the too-small gap in between Kanan and Hera. “So, not the best time for canoodlin’, in this case.”

Zeb plops down at the galley table with a moody sigh, dropping his furry face in his hands. “I _hate_ bein’ sick.” 

Kanan quirks one of his sharply-defined eyebrows, examining the energy rolling off of his weary friend. “Ah. Well, I suppose that’s too bad. I was hoping that you’d be willing to look after our newest agent.” Zeb does not move from where he is resting. One of his long, purple ears, however, twitches with the slightest interest. “It would be a shame for him to be alone after catching such a terrible cold, and so soon after joining up with the Rebellion,” Kanan continues, rubbing one thoughtful hand over his beard. “Too bad, Zeb. Seems to me like the guy could really use a bit of cheering up. Maybe, even, some canoodling.” 

This time, Zeb’s head snaps up from the table.

His round, emerald eyes are opened wide, and he looks like a cub caught with his paw in the wookie-cookie-jar. “What exactly are you impylin?!” he grunts, face as open and readable as an unlocked data-pad. “I’m saying,” Kanan chuckles, “that you should go and check in on our Alexsandr Kallus. He’s new to the ship, after all. I think he’d be grateful for a familiar face, and particularly in this time of illness and need.” 

Zeb is looking caught-out. Eyes shifting left and right, he snaps defensively: “Aren’t you s’posed to be in bed or somethin’?” 

Kanan laughs softly. Zeb looks irritated, but his anger quickly fades as Kanan’s breathing turns into a wet, wheezing cough. As he bends over trying to catch his breath, Hera reaches out and places both hands firmly upon his shoulders. “You are most definitely going to bed now,” she commands him. Steering Kanan gently towards the cabin that the two of them share, she adds: “And no more teasing Garazeb. He’s a big boy. He’ll do whatever he thinks is best.” 

Which is how Garazeb finds himself sitting alone in the galley, with thoughts of a weak, coughing Kallus stuck in his head. 

_Would he be holding his chest, golden hair falling into his sweating face? Would he be wheezing in pain, holding his side where the still-broken ribs and bruised lungs are yet healing? Would he be lying down on the cold medical cot, all alone, anxious hands digging into the chilled bedsheets?_

“Aw, _karabast!”_

Zeb pushes himself up from the table grumpily, stomping his way over to the water-heating unit. After fixing a hot, steaming bulb of Tarine tea, he makes his way to the door of the galley and ducks underneath it to go and find Kallus. After searching several rooms, he finds the human sitting and gazing out the hexagonal artillery window. The gunnery chair is typically occupied by Sabine when they are in a time of defense; but Sabine is on Mandalore with her family. So recently, Kallus has taken up coming here to quietly think _(and, Zeb suspects, find time away from the rest of the Ghost crew to adjust)._

“Hey there, Kal,” he says quietly.

He is trying not to startle the human man, but Alexsandr Kallus is a high-strung individual, and he starts from where he is leaning his head against the glass. “Oh! Garazeb! H-hello!” he replies. Instantly, Zeb’s attention is focused: there is a red, rosy flush to his cheeks, and his forehead is beading with tiny droplets of glittering sweat. “I didn’t hear you come in. Hi. Yes. How are you doing.”

Zeb flattens his ears against the rough, unhealthy sound of Kallus’ voice. “You sound horrible, buddy.” He says, pushing his way into the small space. “And you’re kind of a mess.” The former ISB agent scans his keen, golden eyes up and down Garazeb’s face. “You d-don’t look so good yourself, Zeb,.” he replies, smiling slightly. The twitch to his eyebrows and hands makes him look worried, or perhaps, a bit--

“Are...are ya cold?” Zeb asks, reaching forward before he can stop himself.

“Karabast, Kal--you’ve got a fever!” The soft, leathery skin underneath his clawed palm burns where it touches the human’s skin. “Alexsandr, you need to get some rest.” The human chuckles, gesturing one hand to where he had been resting his face against the cool glass. “What do you think I’m doing?” he says, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t exactly have a cabin, so I’m trying to camp out where it seems best…” 

Zeb raises his eyebrows in concern and disbelief. “Nah, we gave ya Sabine’s room. She won’ mind one bit.” 

The human gives a small shiver. “It...it doesn’t feel right,” Kallus mutters, rubbing one hand upon his arm. “That young Mandalorian woman, she doesn't trust me, and for good reason. I haven’t even had a chance to talk with her since I’ve joined up with you Spectres. And as such, I wouldn’t want to impose. It’s her space, and her art. I cannot just--” 

_“Yer comin’ with me.”_

Garazeb makes the decision out loud before he’s even accepted it in his head. “Get yerself up, Kal. You’re comin to stay in my bunk.” Alexsandr Kallus blinks at him, wide-eyed. If it is possible, the human’s damp skin seems to grow just a shade darker. “I...I couldn’t possibly.” He replies, voice giving away his thinly-masked exhaustion. “It wouldn’t be proper. As you can see, I have this cold, and I--”

“I’m sick too,” Zeb interrupts, waving him away impatiently. “Now, get up, Kallus, before I have to come over there an’ pick ya up.” 

Garazeb finds himself wondering when he became so familiar with the human agent. True, they had been in steady contact for nearly a year since he had become Fulcrum; and, true, they had survived the ice moon of Bahryn together, outlasting the danger and cold of the Empire...but this is different. Now, they are on the same side, and the choice is theirs. And Zeb is finding himself inclined to spend more and more time alongside the careful agent. Talking to him is easy; it’s relaxing. He never would have expected it from someone whom he had once called his enemy--particularly, from someone partially responsible for what had happened on Lasan. 

_But he wants this._ He actually _wants_ to look after Kallus. 

“Very well,” the human responds, pushing himself up to standing. “Show me the way to your...cabin. I must admit, the idea of a warm blanket sounds quite appealing right now.” Zeb finds himself grinning. He steps back and allows Kallus to follow him into the hallway, and then, remembering the bulb of hot tea, pushes it into his hands. “Here,” he says, motioning for Kallus to drink. “Work on this for a bit.” 

“My sincerest thanks, Garazeb.” The other man smiles, bringing the brim of the bulb to touch his lips. _(His lips._ The Lasat finds himself _staring.)_ “I appreciate your thoughtfulness about all of this.” 

“Er, right,” Zeb says, eyes locked upon Kallus’ mouth. “Follow me, then.” He finds himself struggling to keep a clear head as he walks down the narrow hallway of the Ghost to their room. _His_ room. _This is just for one night,_ Garazeb thinks to himself. _This is only for a moment. Fulcrum--Kallus--_ Alexsandr _is sick. You are only doing what is best to help him._ The image of Kanan comes back to his mind, mouth pulled into a sardonic smile. “ _A bit of canoodling,”_ the Jedi’s voice echoes.

Zeb thinks about slapping himself in the head.

“Right. Just in here.” He gestures to Kallus, motioning to the door that opens up to his quarters. “Most of the time I share this with Ezra, but he’s back on base right now. So you won’t be disturbed.” An unappealing thought suddenly occurs to him. “Uh, sorry about the smell.” Kallus staggers through the door after him, clutching for Zeb’s hand in what must be a very tired way. “Smell?” he asks blearily. “What are you talking about?” The Lasat gazes down at him, unsure whether or not it is the illness that is making him unable to use his aromatic sense. 

“Well, uh, I’ll just leave ya to it,” he says, pointing towards his bed awkwardly. “G’night, Kal--Alexsandr.”

Wondering why he had suggested this stupid idea in the first place, Zeb begins to make his way hurriedly out--and hears the wracking, pathetic series of coughs behind him. He stops, and he winces. “D’ya...Do ya think that you’ll be alright here, by yourself?” The moment is long and quiet. When nobody answers him, Zeb turns to see Kallus flopped face-down in the bunk.

Nearly smothering himself in what must be an immediate, illness-induced comatose. 

“ _Hey!”_ Zeb yelps, hustling over to push the man upon his back. “Watch what you’re doing there, buddy! You nearly suffocated yourself!” The human blinks up at him hazily, as if unable to assess the situation clearly. “Zeb?” he asks. “Oh, good. You’re back.” There is a surprising tone of softness and gratitude to his voice, and it does something to warm up Zeb's insides. “Never left,” he mutters, eyes widening with concern.

Shifting from foot to foot, Zeb makes his decision.

“You know what? Yeah. M’stayin. Budge up there, you.” Biting back what must be a wave of illness-induced nausea, Garazeb leans forward and crawls into bed next to the human. “Plenty a’ room for both of us, if ya just--” But he is silenced when Kallus throws both of his arms around him, snuggling closer than Zeb would have ever expected. 

“ _Thanksss,”_ Kallus sighs, blonde eyelashes fluttering pleasantly in the gentle shadows of darkness. “G’night, Garazeb.”

Somehow, he finds the heart inside of his chest racing. Somehow, he finds _himself_ flushing read, sweating as though _he_ is the one deliriously sick. As Zeb feels his own weary body calling him down into sleep, he permits himself to sink into the warm and the strangely familiar feeling of their embrace. Closing his eyes, allowing his inhales to move into slow, steady breathes, he imagines that something like... _this_ could actually be his. Could be on purpose. Could stay for a while. 

“G’night, Kal,” he murmurs, squeezing the arm that is wrapped around him protectively. “You’ll feel better in the morning. I promise.” 

And yet, even though he cannot wait to find himself and his crew back into their status of peak-performance health, he still finds a small part of himself hoping that this season of comforting Kallus will linger...

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


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